


Scenes from a Life (not that strange though)

by TransWonderWoman



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jefferson and Nate and David are all mentioned thats the abuse and stuff up there, Max never went to Blackwell, Rachel still died, figured I should tag even though the references are very brief, love her but for this she's dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 04:23:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12833226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransWonderWoman/pseuds/TransWonderWoman
Summary: A short scene of Chloe and Victoria at Victoria's first real show.





	Scenes from a Life (not that strange though)

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally not written anything creative in over 10 years, confined to academic writing and reading for a long long time. So while i'm happy with this, I do hope that I can improve, should this be a thing I decide to continue doing. Anyway, I'm also sort of convinced this is terrible but I'm going to post it anyway. I haven't had anyone edit it, or look at it even a little. So this is going to be a weird experience.

Victoria stood in the gallery, pleased that she finally made it. 

Well, maybe not made it. But she had finally got a showing on her own. From out of the possessive reach of her parents. Their influence in the art world was limited to the west coast, so Victoria had decided that enough was enough and had moved out east. To the place she could be free, New York City. 

Here, she could be herself. Away from her parents, away from Arcadia Bay, from the memory of Nathan and Jefferson. Her, and the love of her life, making a scene–of course–entering the gallery. 

Chloe had made some concessions to her request that she respect the dress code. Wild horses couldn’t get Chloe in a dress, but she had forgone her beanie and was at least wearing a suit jacket and slacks over her ragged tank; her sleeve of tattoos merely peeking out from the edge of the jacket. Her slacks fit well; for all that it looked like Chloe had been showered by dirt on the way to the show. Fresh streaks of grey and brown were apparent on her clothing, and suddenly Victoria was aware that Chloe had a scrape on her cheekbone and her hands were bleeding. 

Any annoyance that may have made itself known over Chloe’s lateness, her lackluster approach to fashion, disappeared to be replaced by concern. Victoria handed off her drink to a passing waiter and rushed towards Chloe, unconcerned with making a scene at her first east coast show. Here there were artists and critics she respected, and career prospects that she would hope to cultivate, but all that paled in comparison to her concern over Chloe. 

When Chloe saw her running towards her, she grinned, too loudly saying, “Whoa, Vic’s actually running, not just doing the lame white girl fast walk.” She then winced, as if on a delay, at the volume she had spoken at. “Sorry Vic,” she again shout-said. “I sort of got bumped by a car on my way here, but I said I’d be on time and I’m not too late?” Concern filled her eyes as that, as if she suddenly was convinced that having been hit by a car would somehow make Victoria upset with her. 

“Oh you idiot,” Victoria said under her breath, reaching out and cradling Chloe’s face in her hands. “What am I going to do with you?”

“What?” Chloe said, her eyes filled with concern. She ran her hand through her hair, mussing it further from its already unsettled look.

“Its nothing,” said Victoria. “Nothing at all. C’mon, let me get you cleaned up and checked out. I know you were looking forward to freaking out all the normies here, but that’s just going to wait until next time.”

Chloe’s eyes widened. “But Vic,” she said. “This is a huge deal for you. You’re making it. And it’s important for an artist to be present at her shows. What if someone wants to buy a piece? Or feature it? What if someone wants to partner with you, or have an interview? You can’t leave!” Chloe was beginning to panic, as if the potential impact of Victoria leaving the show far outstripped in importance any physical pain that she was experiencing. 

Victoria felt the anxiety over the possible damage to her career on the edges of her consciousness, chewing away at her brain. But far more powerfully, she felt a deep tenderness towards her dumb punk, staring up at her with eyes filled with panic, as if freaking the fuck out in place of Victoria. 

“It’s nothing Chlo,” Victoria found herself saying. “There will be other shows, other opening nights, other people to impress with my hot as fuck date” At this Chloe snorted and then winced, sheepishly looking around as if she had only just noticed that she may have attracted some attention arriving in the state she had. 

“And furthermore Chloe my love, you’ve already made quite a name for me,” Victoria continued. “No one will be able to stop asking questions about who you are to me. Adds to the mystique, something all us artists need.”

Chloe didn’t appear to totally buy this, but it also looked like she was running out of energy to argue. So Victoria took that opportunity to straighten up, with Chloe partially supported by her shoulders, and went off in search of the Curator. 

–

He wasn’t pleased that Victoria was leaving, but really what could he do, demand that Victoria not see that her girlfriend went to a hospital? In front of people? Even as officious as he was that seemed a step too far. So it was that Victoria found herself near dragging an increasingly woozy Chloe into Mt. Sinai. Chloe had insisted on walking much of the way, her old issues with cars not under her control rearing up even years later. 

Sometimes it just made Vic want to cry, how these old pains of Chloe’s would reappear and make life so much more difficult for her. When she lost a day of work because suddenly leaving bed was too much for her. When she blamed herself or devalued herself, or belittled herself for the most innocuous of slip ups. She was working on it, going to therapy (after much cajoling on Victoria’s part, and an argument that Chloe had to apologize for days after implying that Victoria going to therapy somehow made her weak. That had been a rough time) but still it wasn’t an all around fix. 

Today was one of those days that Victoria just felt for her girlfriend. All the things pains she knew about and the ones she still kept hidden, under the titles of “Max things” or “Rachel things” or sometimes “Nathan, Jefferson and David things.” It hurt to know that someone she loved so much, as she was being examined separately from Victoria, hated herself so much, blamed herself for so much, had been hurt so often. 

But then there were times, often when it was just Chloe and Victoria, that she just looked so free. As if she hadn’t had to suffer so much abuse, so much pain. Sometimes she looked at Vic and just grinned and that was great. To see her happy and unburdened, as if the surly teenager who had sparred with Victoria at Blackwell was just a distant memory. Victoria hoped that at some point, Chloe would recognize that Victoria’s love for her was not conditional, that she would love Chloe until Chloe wanted her to stop, and if that day never came she would be grateful. 

–

The next day, Victoria finds herself apologizing to the gallery owner, but not caring that much given that although she hadn’t sold too much, she had attracted generally positive reviews, and her abrupt exit had gotten some degree of chatter going regarding her mysterious and dangerous personal life. It made her want to laugh at how wrong people were about her, and her relationship to that tall, blue-haired stranger that had disrupted the night, but it certainly piqued the curiosity of people in attendance. Curiosity was good. It maybe meant more sales down the line. It meant not having to work freelance for news outlets and magazines, on top of a part time retail job. It meant Chloe feeling less pressure at work, a bit of freedom for them to stretch out and take advantage of.

While thinking these hopeful thoughts however, Victoria saw something that dismantled her sense of security. 

Written, plain as day in the guest book for the opening night, was a name infamous in her household. 

Max Caulfield.

“Well. Fuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Feelings? General Impressions? I might expand this, I might not. For now I'm happy with it, and its painfully self indulgent. So that's fun.


End file.
